Bad week

On Saturday afternoon, my Love complained of discomfort in her abdomen, with occasional shots of pain. She felt bloated. She went to bed in the early evening.

She slept all day Sunday. I simmered a stewing hen, fed her a bowl of broth and pulled meat, then went to bed early myself.

Monday morning, her discomfort was worse. She had a continuous aching pain. She went to work, but was so tired that she came home mid-afternoon. She had mild nausea. She didn’t feel feverish.

I left work early. She was in bed, asleep. I made tortellini in the broth from Sunday. She woke up and had two bowls of tortellini. We watched the ballgame.

Then her appendix burst.

I never want to go through anything like that again. She was in writhing agony. I called an ambulance. They took her to the nearest emergency room. They immediately did an appendectomy.

I was nobody. Just a friend, sitting in the waiting room of the ER. Nobody would tell me anything. I called her parents and her siblings. They called the hospital. Nobody would tell them anything.

People: Appoint a health care proxy! Keep it up to date! Make sure that people have copies!

They finally let me in to see her when she woke up and asked for me.

She looked awful. White as chalk. Hair a mess. All wrung out. Lost weight when she doesn’t have extra to lose. IVs in both arms. Monitors and monitors and monitors, beeping and clicking. It’s hard not to watch them obsessively.

I slept in a chair in her room while she was in the hospital. I went to work, but I can’t say I was very productive. My firm was wonderfully supportive and sympathetic.

She’s home now, sleeping in her own bed.

I’m making jalapeno burgers for dinner. Just kidding.

 

PS: Thanks to the bloggers I follow for keeping me sane. You probably shouldn’t have made her laugh, though.

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14 thoughts on “Bad week

    • Thank you.

      It was the worst hours of my life. I come from the mountains. I don’t scare easy. But I am not ashamed to tell you that I was scared to death.

      Even after she came out of surgery, she was too dopey to talk coherently. She kept calling my name until one of the nurses figured out that she was calling for the woman praying in the waiting room. That’s when they let me in. Even then, the doctors couldn’t discuss her condition with me until they judged that she was competent to sign a consent and proxy. It was touch and go for a day after that.

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        • We hadn’t done health care proxies or medical disclosure consents for each other.

          We’re not married, or even engaged. We agreed to give it a year before we got engaged. (I’m tempted to backslide on that, especially after last week!) Technically, we don’t even share a residence. (Each of us has her our own apartment, although curiously one or the other is empty every night …)

          Federal and state privacy laws prohibited the hospital, doctors, nurses, etc from telling me anything. I raised Hell, but it didn’t do any good until she started asking for me.

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